


After the Ritz

by webellion



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Homophobia, Other, Spoilers, WWII
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-25 02:10:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2604731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/webellion/pseuds/webellion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The real Captain Jack Harkness faces the day after meeting "Captain James Harper".</p>
            </blockquote>





	After the Ritz

**Author's Note:**

> This is a brief follow-up to "Make the Most of Now"

Captain Jack Harkness of the 133rd Eagle Squadron can see the revulsion in his men's eyes. Some try to hide it; others don't bother. These are the men he's been with every day for the last five weeks, men he's helped turn from schoolboys to pilots. These are the same men he'd fight with, men he'd trust with his life. But now he sees revulsion and betrayal in the faces that just yesterday looked up to him with pride and respect. It shames him beyond anything he could have imagined to have let them down. He hopes fervently that they can't see his hands shaking as he does the final inspection before takeoff.

He's been summoned to report to the brigadier's office after the sortie. He was expecting it. He suspects this is the first step to a court martial for his behavior at the dance hall last night. What the hell had he been thinking dancing with another man in front of God and everyone? The captain might have been forgiven that; it was wartime and people did look the other way, allowing others to take comfort where they could find it, but then Captain Harper had kissed him. And he'd kissed the other man back hungrily and quite unmistakably beyond 'taking comfort' - there was no looking the other way now.

* * *

Once he's in the air, he catches himself daydreaming about James Harper. Was that really his name? What was that bright flash and how did the captain disappear into it? Captain Harkness vividly recalls Harper's sparkling blue eyes, his infectious smile, his sultry voice, the feel of his strong body against his own, his passionate kiss – and hates himself and the other captain for all of it. If he saw Harper now, Harkness suspects he'd punch him in the face himself – or worse. 

Just thinking about the other man has him helplessly aroused and breathing hard. He growls and shakes his head in angry denial, as if trying to jar the memories loose onto the cockpit floor, like cigarette butts for later disposal. His life is over with one dance, one kiss. Captain Jack Harkness has guaranteed that the night at the dance hall was his last by living like it was.

* * *

When a formation of Messerschmidts appears out of nowhere, a part of him is overjoyed to have something tangible upon which to inflict his rage. Adrenaline surges in an explosion of warmth through his body. He instantly orders his men back and covers them against the six enemy planes, taking out three of them straightaway in a brash offensive move.

George, of all of his men, is the one who insists on staying with him against his orders, arguing vociferously over the radio.

“Captain! You can't take all of them alone! You don't have to -” the young pilot protests, hot-headed as ever.

Captain Harkness cuts him off brusquely. “George, goddammit, I need you to get the other men home safely for me.”

“But Sir, there are too many of them!”

“Airman, if you do not immediately disengage and return to base, I swear I will shoot you down myself for insubordination!” Harkness snarls ferociously, and sighs with relief when he sees the other man break off and turn back.

“Good man, George,” the Captain praises over the radio to his retreating wingman. “I'll catch you up as soon as I clear off these Jerrys. You can buy me that Scotch later.” He's full of forced bravado and fake cheer.

“Yes Sir,” George replies heartily, then more quietly as if his voice is running low on faith. “Good hunting, Captain.”

Captain Harkness is toying with the remaining three German pilots, enjoying driving them into a panicked frenzy, until the second formation shows up. No more games; he's never taken on this many enemies at once before, and he's heard stories of both aces and ghosts emerging from dogfights like this. He's strangely elated, molding the sickening pain crushing his heart into something resembling vengeance. He's going to annihilate all the other planes in the sky around him. Maybe that will give him a shot at redemption.

The new formation starts to try to corral his lone position, and the three original pilots bunt to outflank him from below. After their years together, his agile Spitfire is an extension of his own body. He darts easily away from the loosely grouped new arrivals, determined to follow the other three. He half rolls and noses down into a steep dive but the Spitfire just can't keep up with the faster Messerschmidts. With no choice but to pull up hard, he starts a steep turn he knows the Germans can't follow to bring them back around into his gun sights, but so soon after the dive, the Spitfire's carburetor sputters for just a moment, starved for fuel, and then they're on him from every direction like a pack of wolves on a wounded stag.

He can't bail out because his whole plane is on fire. He briefly considers radioing his status, but decides firmly against it. He can't let his group turn around into to come to his aid and get slaughtered by the more experienced German pilots. His men don't need to hear this and he's afraid of what else his voice may betray to them. Let the last thing they hear from him be his earlier whoops of joy and triumph. 

How could one moment of complete perfection turn into this? It doesn't seem fair. Ah Jesus, James, I'm sorry...

As the cold North Sea rushes up to meet him and quench his burning craft, he hears in the distance the soft strains of the song they danced to. He closes his eyes, feeling the warm, solid reassurance of Harper in his arms again, and wonders if angels really do dance.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.


End file.
